THE  GO-GETTER 


OTHER  BOOKS 
BY 

PETER  B.  KYNE 

THE  PRIDE  OF  PALOMAR 
KINDRED  OF  THE  DUST 
CAPPY  RICKS 
CAPTAIN  SCRAGGS 
LONG  CHANCE,  THE 
THREE  GODFATHERS,  THE 
VALLEY  OF  THE  GIANTS,  THE 
WEBSTER,  MAN'S  MAN 


The  Go-Getter 

A  Story  That  Tells  You 
How  to  be  One 


By 
Peter  B.  Kyne 


NEW     YORK 


M  C  M  X  X  I 


-'  0 

<T 


Copyright,  1921,  by 
PETER  B.  KYNE 


t  'reserved,  including  that  of  translation 
into,  foreign  languages,  including 
«  /•'-.  •  ,t'he  Scandinavian. 


Printed  in  U.  S.  A. 


DEDICATION 


THIS  LITTLE  BOOK  IS  DEDICATED  TO  THE 
MEMORY  OF  MY  DEAD  CHIEF,  BRIGADIER- 
GENERAL  LEROY  S.  LYON,  SOMETIME 
COMMANDER  OF  THE  65TH  FIELD  AR 
TILLERY  BRIGADE,  4OTH  DIVISION, 
UNITED  STATES  ARMY. 

HE     PRACTICED     AND     PREACHED     A     RE 
LIGION    OF    LOYALTY    TO    THE    COUNTRY 
AND   THE    APPOINTED    TASK,    WHATEVER 
IT    MIGHT    BE. 


461681 


THE  GO-GETTER 


.  ALDEN  P.  KICKS,  known  in  Pacific  Coast 
wholesale  lumber  and  shipping  circles  as 
Cappy  Kicks,  had  more  troubles  than  a  hen  with 
ducklings.  He  remarked  as  much  to  Mr.  Skinner, 
president  and  general  manager  of  the  Ricks  Log 
ging  &  Lumbering  Company,  the  corporate  entity 
which  represented  Cappy's  vast  lumber  interests; 
and  he  fairly  barked  the  information  at  Captain 
Matt  Peasley,  his  son-in-law  and  also  president  and 
manager  of  the  Blue  Star  Navigation  Company,  an 
other  corporate  entity  which  represented  the  Ricks 
interest  in  the  American  mercantile  marine. 

Mr.  Skinner  received  this  information  in  silence. 
He  was  not  related  to  Cappy  Ricks.  But  Matt 
Peasley  sat  down,  crossed  his  legs  and  matched 
glares  with  his  mercurial  father-in-law. 

"You  have  troubles!"  he  jeered,  with  emphasis 
on  the  pronoun.  "Have  you  got  a  misery  in  your 
back,  or  is  Herbert  Hoover  the  wrong  man  for 
Secretary  of  Commerce?" 

9 


10      .  V  ;  ;  i  :.  THE  GO-GETTER 


:  '"6'tdw'  :  y4iir  sarcasm,  young  feller,"  Cappy 
shrilled.  "You  know  dad-blamed  well  it  isn't  a 
question  of  health  or  politics.  It's  the  fact  that  in 
my  old  age  I  find  myself  totally  surrounded  by  the 
choicest  aggregation  of  mental  duds  since  Ajax 
defied  the  lightning." 

"Meaning  whom?" 

"You  and  Skinner/' 

"Why,  what  have  we  done?" 

"You  argued  me  into  taking  on  the  management 
of  twenty-five~of  fHoselnfernal  Shipping  Board 
freighters,  and  no  sooner  do  we  have  them  allo 
cated  to  us  than  a  near  panic  hits  the  country, 
freight  rates  go  to  glory,  marine  engineers  go  on 
strike  and  every  infernal  young  whelp  we  send  out 
to  take  charge  of  one  of  our  offices  in  the  Orient 
promptly  gets  the  swelled  head  ai>d  thinks  he's 
divinely  ordained  to  drink  up  all  the  synthetic 
Scotch  whiskey  manufactured  in  Japan  for  the 
benefit  of  thirsty  Americans.  In  my  old  age  you 
two  have  forced  us  into  the  position  of  having  to 
fire  folks  by  cable.  Why?  Because  we're  break 
ing  into  a  game  that  can't  be  played  on  the  home 
grounds.  A  lot  of  our  business  is  so  far  away  we 
can't  control  it." 

Matt  Peasley  leveled  an  accusing  finger  at 
Cappy  Ricks.  "We  never  argued  you  into  taking 
over  the  management  of  those  Shipping  Board 


THE  GO-GETTER 11 

boats.  We  argued  me  into  it.  I'm  the  goat.  You 
have  nothing  to  do  with  it.  You  retired  ten  years 
ago.  All  the  troubles  in  the  marine  end  of  this 
shop  belong  on  my  capable  shoulders,  old  settler/' 

"Theoretically— yes.  Actually — no.  I  hope  you 
do  not  expect  me  to  abandon  mental  as  well  as 
physical  effort.  Great  Wampus  Cats!  Am  I  to 
be  denied  a  sentimental  interest  in  matters  where 
I  have  a  controlling  financial  interest?  I  admit 
you  two  boys  are  running  my  affairs  and  ordinarily 
you  run  them  rather  well,  but — but — ahem! 
Harumph-h-h!  What's  the  matter  with  you, 
Matt?  And  you,  also,  Skinner?  If  Matt  makes  a 
mistake,  it's  your  job  to  remind  him  of  it  before 
the  results  manifest  themselves,  is  it  not?  And 
vice  versa.  Have  you  two  boobs  lost  your  ability 
to  judge  men,  or  did  you  ever  have  such  ability?" 

"You're  referring  to  Henderson,  of  the  Shanghai 
office,  I  dare  say,"  Mr.  Skinner  cut  in. 

"I  am,  Skinner.  And  I'm  here  to  remind  you  that 
if  we'd  stuck  to  our  own  game,  which  is  coastwise 
shipping,  and  had  left  the  trans-Pacific  field  with 
its  general  cargoes  to  others,  we  wouldn't  have 
any  Shanghai  office  at  this  moment  and  we  would 
not  be  pestered  by  the  Hendersons  of  this  world." 

"He's  the  best  lumber,  salesman  we've  ever  had," 
Mr.  Skinner  defended.  "I  had  every  hope  that  he 


12  THE  GO-GETTER 

would  send  us  orders  for  many  a  cargo  for  Asiatic 
delivery." 

"And  he  had  gone  through  every  job  in  this 
office,  from  office  boy  to  sales  manager  in  the  lum 
ber  department  and  from  freight  clerk  to  passen 
ger  agent  in  the  navigation  company,"  Matt  Peas- 
ley  supplemented. 

"I  admit  all  of  that.  But  did  you  consult  me 
when  you  decided  to  send  him  out  to  China  on  his 
own?" 

"Of  course  not.  I'm  boss  of  the  Blue  Star  Navi 
gation  Company,  am  I  not?  The  man  was  in  charge 
of  the  Shanghai  office  before  you  ever  opened  your 
mouth  to  discharge  your  cargo  Of  free  advice." 

"I  told  you  then  that  Henderson  wouldn't  make 
good,  didn't  I?" 

"You  did." 

"And  now  I  have  an  opportunity  to  tell  you  the 
little  tale  you  didn't  give  me  an  opportunity  to 
tell  you  before  you  sent  him  out.  Henderson  was 
a  good  man — a  cracker  jack  man — when  he  had  a 
better  man  over  him.  But — I've  been  twenty 
years  reducing  a  tendency  on  the  part  of  that  fel 
low's  head  to  bust  his  hat-band.  And  now  he's 
gone  south  with  a  hundred  and  thirty  thousand 
taels  of  our  Shanghai  bank  account." 

"Permit  me  to  remind  you,  Mr.  Kicks,"  Mr.  Skin- 


THE  GO-GETTER  13 

ner  cut  in  coldly,  "that  he  was  bonded  to  the  extent 
of  a  quarter  of  a  million  dollars." 

"Not  a  peep  out  of  you,  Skinner.  Not  a  peep. 
Permit  me  to  remind  yon  that  I'm  the  little  genius 
who  placed  that  insurance  unknown  to  you  and 
Matt.  And  I  recall  now  that  I  was  reminded  by 
you,  Matthew,  my  son,  that  I  had  retired  ten  years 
ago  and  please,  would  I  quit  interfering  in  the  in 
ternal  administration  of  your  office." 

"Well,  I  must  admit  your  far-sightedness  in 
that  instance  will  keep  the  Shanghai  office  out  of 
the  red  ink  this  year,"  Matt  Peasley  replied.  "How 
ever,  we  face  this  situation,  Gappy.  Henderson 
has  drunk  and  gambled  and  signed  chits  in  excess 
of  his  salary.  He  hasn't  attended  to  business  and 
he's  capped  his  inefficiency  by  absconding  with  our 
bank  account.  We  couldn't  foresee  that.  When 
we  send  a  man  out  to  the  Orient  to  be  our  manager 
there,  we  have  to  trust  him  all  the  way  or  not  at 
all.  So  there  is  no  use  weeping  over  spilled  milk, 
Cappy.  Our  job  is  to  select  a  successor  to  Hen 
derson  and  send  him  out  to  Shanghai  on  the  next 
boat," 

"Oh,  very  well,  Matt,"  Cappy  replied  magnani 
mously,  "I'll  not  rub  it  into  you.  I  suppose  I'm  far 
from  generous,  bawling  you  out  like  this.  Perhaps, 
when  you're  my  age  and  have  had  a  lot  of  mental 
and  moral  cripples  nip  you  and  draw  blood  as  often 


14  THE  GO-GETTER 

as  they've  drawn  it  on  me  you'll  be  a  better  judge 
than  I  of  men  worthy  of  the  weight  of  responsibil 
ity.  Skinner,  have  you  got  a  candidate  for  this 
job?" 

"I  regret  to  say,  sir,  I  have  not.  All  of  the  men 
in  my  department  are  quite  young — too  young  for 
the  responsibility." 

"What  do  you  mean — young?"   Cappy  blazed. 

"Well,  the  only  man  I  would  consider  for  the 
job  is  Andrews  and  he  is  too  young — about  thirty, 
I  should  say." 

"About  thirty,  eh?  Strikes  me  you  were  about 
twenty-eight  when  I  threw  ten  thousand  a  year 
at  you  in  actual  cash,  and  a  couple  of  million  dol 
lars'  worth  of  responsibility." 

"Yes,  sir,  but  then  Andrews  has  never  been 
tested " 

"Skinner,"  Cappy  interrupted  in  his  most  awful 
voice,  "it's  a  constant  source  of  amazement  to  me 
why  I  refrain  from  firing  you.  You  say  Andrews 
has  never  been  tested.  Why  hasn't  he  been  tested? 
Why  are  we  maintaining  untested  material  in  this 
shop,  anyhow?  Eh?  Answer  me  that.  Tut,  tut, 
tut !  Not  a  peep  out  of  you,  sir.  If  you  had  done 
your  Christian  duty,  you  would  have  taken  a  year's 
vacation  when  lumber  was  selling  itself  in  1919 
and  1920,  and  you  would  have  left  Andrews  sitting 


THE  GO-GETTER  15 

in  at  your  desk  to  see  the  sort  of  stuff  he's  made 
of." 

"It's  a  mighty  lucky  thing  I  didn't  go  away  for 
a  year,"  Skinner  protested  respectfully,  "because 
the  market  broke — like  that — and  if  you  don't 
think  we  have  to  hustle  to  sell  sufficient  lumber 
to  keep  our  own  ships  busy  freighting  it " 

"Skinner,  how  dare  you  contradict  me?  How 
old  was  Matt  Peasley  when  I  turned  over  the  Blue 
Star  Navigation  Company  to  him,  lock,  stock  and 
barrel?  Why,  he  wasn't  twenty-six  years  old. 
Skinner,  you're  a  dodo!  The  killjoys  like  you  who 
have  straddled  the  neck  of  industry  and  throttled 
it  with  absurd  theories  that  a  man's  back  must  be 
bent  like  an  ox-bow  and  his  locks  snowy  white  be 
fore  he  can  be  entrusted  with  responsibility  and  a 
living  wage,  have  caused  all  of  our  wars  and  strikes. 
This  is  a  young  man's  world,  Skinner,  and  don't 
you  ever  forget  it.  The  go-getters  of  this  world  are 
under  thirty  years  of  age.  Matt,"  he  concluded, 
turning  to  his  son-in-law,  "what  do  you  think  ofv 
Andrews  for  that  Shanghai  job?" 

"I  think  he'll  do." 

"Why  do  you  think  he'll  do?" 

"Because  he  ought  to  do.  He's  been  with  us  long 
enough  to  have  acquired  sufficient  experience  to 
enable  him " 

"Has  he  acquired  the  courage  to  tackle  the  job, 


16  THE  GO-GETTEK 

Matt?"  Gappy  interrupted.  "That's  more  impor 
tant  than  this  doggoned  experience  you  and  Skin 
ner  prate  so  much  about." 

"I  know  nothing  of  his  courage.  I  assume  that 
he  has  force  and  initiative.  I  know  he  has  a  pleas 
ing  personality." 

"Well,  before  we  send  him  out  we  ought  to  know 
whether  or  no  he  has  force  and  initiative." 

"Then,"  quoth  Matt  Peasley,  rising,  "I  wash  my 
hands  of  the  job  of  selecting  Henderson's  successor. 
You've  butted  in,  so  I  suggest  you  name  the  lucky 
man." 

"Yes,  indeed,"  Skinner  agreed.  "I'm  sure  it's 
quite  beyond  my  poor  abilities  to  uncover  Andrews' 
force  and  initiative  on  such  short  notice.  He  does 
possess  sufficient  force  and  initiative  for  his  pres 
ent  job,  but " 

"But  will  he  possess  force  and  initiative  when 
he  has  to  make  a  quick  decision  six  thousand 
miles  from  expert  advice,  and  stand  or  fall  by  that 
decision?  That's  what  we  want  to  know,  Skin 
ner." 

"I  suggest,  sir,"  Mr.  Skinner  replied  with  chill 
politeness,  "that  you  conduct  the  examination." 

"I  accept  the  nomination,  Skinner.  By  the  Holy 
Pink-toed  Prophet!  The  next  man  we  send  out  to 
that  Shanghai  office  is  going  to  be  a  go-getter. 


THE  GO-GETTEK  17 

We've  had  three  managers  go  rotten  on  us  and 
that's  three  too  many." 

And  without  further  ado,  Cappy  swung  his  aged 
legs  up  on  to  his  desk  and  slid  down  in  his  swivel 
chair  until  he  rested  on  his  spine.  His  head  sank 
on  his  breast  and  he  closed  his  eyes. 

"He's  framing  the  examination  for  Andrews," 
Matt  Peasley  whispered,  as  he  and  Skinner  made 
their  exits. 


II 


HHHE  President  emeritus  of  the  Kicks'  interests 
•*•    was  not  destined  to  uninterrupted  cogitation, 
however.    Within  ten  minutes  his  private  exchange 
operator  called  him  to  the  telephone. 

"What  is  it?"  Cappy  yelled  into  the  transmitter. 

"There  is  a  young  man  in  the  general  office. 
His  name  is  Mr.  William  E.  Peck  and  he  desires  to 
see  you  personally." 

Cappy  sighed.  "Very  well,"  he  replied.  "Have 
him  shown  in." 

Almost  immediately  the  office  boy  ushered  Mr. 
Peck  into  Cappy's  presence.  The  moment  he  was 
fairly  inside  the  door  the  visitor  halted,  came  easily 
and  naturally  to  "attention"  and  bowed  respect 
fully,  while  the  cool  glance  of  his  keen  blue  eyes 
held  steadily  the  autocrat  of  the  Blue  Star  Naviga 
tion  Company. 

"Mr.  Eicks,  Peck  is  my  name,  sir — William  E. 
Peck.  Thank  you,  sir,  for  acceding  to  my  request 
for  an  interview." 

"Ahem!  Hum-m-m!"  Cappy  looked  belligerent. 
"Sit  down,  Mr.  Peck." 

18 


THE  GO-GETTER  19 

Mr.  Peck  sat  down,  but  as  he  crossed  to  the  chair 
beside  Cappy's  desk,  the  old  gentleman  noticed 
that  his  visitor  walked  with  a  slight  limp,  and 
that  his  left  forearm  had  been  amputated  half  way 
to  the  elbow.  To  the  observant  Cappy,  the  Ameri 
can  Legion  button  in  Mr.  Peck's  lapel  told  the 
story. 

"Well,  Mr.  Peck,"  he  queried  gently,  "what  can 
I  do  for  you?" 

"I've  called  for  my  job,"  the  veteran  replied 
briefly. 

"By  the  Holy  Pink-toed  Prophet !"  Cappy  ejacu 
lated,  "you  say  that  like  a  man  who  doesn't  expect 
to  be  refused." 

"Quite  right,  sir.    I  do  not  anticipate  a  refusal." 

"Why?" 

Mr.  William  E.  Peck's  engaging  but  somewhat 
plain  features  rippled  into  the  most--c^mpelling 
^mile  Cappy  Kicks  had  ever  seen.  "I  am  a  sales- 
manpMr.  Ricks,"  he  replied.  "I  know  that  state 
ment  to  be  true  because  I  have  demonstrated,  over 
a  period  of  five  years,  that  I  can  sell  my  share  of 
anything  that  has  a  hockable  value.  I  have  always 
found,  however,  that  before  proceeding  to  sell 
goods  I  had  to  sell  the  manufacturer  of  those  goods 
something,  to- wit — myself !  I  am  about  to  sell  my 
self  to  you." 

"Son,"  said  Cappy  smilingly,  "you  win.    You've 


20 THE  GO-GETTER 

sold  me  already.  When  did  they  sell  you  a  mem 
bership  in  the  military  forces  of  the  United  States 
of  America?" 

"On  the  morning  of  April  7th,  1917,  sir." 

"That  clinches  our  sale.  I  soldiered  with  the 
Knights  of  Columbus  at  Camp  Kearny  myself,  but 
when  they  refused  to  let  me  go  abroad  with  my  di 
vision  my  heart  was  broken,  so  I  went  over  the 
hill." 

That  little  touch  of  the  language  of  the  line 
appeared  to  warm  Mr.  Peck's  heart  considerably, 
establishing  at  once  a  free  masonry  between  them. 

"I  was  with  the  Portland  Lumber  Company, 
selling  lumber  in  the  Middle  West  before  the  war," 
he  explained.  "Uncle  Sam  gave  me  my  sheepskin 
at  Letterman  General  Hospital  last  week,  with 
half  disability  on  my  ten  thousand  dollars'  worth 
of  government  insurance.  Whittling  my  wing  was 
a  mere  trifle,  but  my  broken  leg  was  a  long  time 
mending,  and  now  it's  shorter  than  it  really  ought 
to  be.  And  I  developed  pneumonia  with  influenza 
and  they  found  some  T.  B.  indications  after  that. 
I've  been  at  the  government  tuberculosis  hospital 
at  Fort  Bayard,  New  Mexico,  for  a  year.  However, 
what's  left  of  me  is  certified  to  be  sound.  I've  got 
five  inches  chest  expansion  and  I  feel  fine." 

"Not  at  all  blue  or  discouraged?"  Cappy  haz 
arded. 


THE  GO-GETTER  21 

"Oh,  I  got  off  easy,  Mr.  Kicks.  I  have  my  head 
left — and  my  right  arm.  I  can  think  and  I  can 
write,  and  even  if  one  of  my  wheels  is  flat,  I  can 
hike  longer  and  faster  after  an  order  than  most. 
Got  a  job  for  me,  Mr.  Kicks?" 

"No,  I  haven't,  Mr.  Peck.  I'm  out  of  it,  you 
know.  Retired  ten  years  ago.  This  office  is  merely 
a  headquarters  for  social  frivolity — a  place  to  get 
my  mail  and  mill  over  the  gossip  of  the  street.  Our 
Mr.  Skinner  is  the  chap  you  should  see." 

"I  have  seen  Mr.  Skinner,  sir,"  the  erstwhile  war 
rior  replied,  "but  he  wasn't  very  sympathetic.  I 
think  he  jumped  to  the  conclusion  that  I  was  at 
tempting  to  trade  him  my  empty  sleeve.  He 
informed  me  that  there  wasn't  sufficient  business 
to  keep  his  present  staff  of  salesmen  busy,  so  then 
I  told  him  I'd  take  anything,  from  stenographer 
up.  I'm  the  champion  one-handed  typist  of  the 
United  States  Army.  I  can  tally  lumber  and  bill 
it.  I  can  keep  books  and  answer  the  telephone." 

"No  encouragement,  eh?" 

"No,  sir." 

"Well,  now,  son,"  Cappy  informed  his  cheerful 
visitor  confidentially,  "you  take  my  tip  and  see 
my  son-in-law,  Captain  Peasley.  He's  high,  low 
and  jack-in-the-game  in  the  shipping  end  of  our 
business." 

"I  have  also  interviewed  Captain  Peasley.     He 


22  THE  GO-GETTER 

was  very  kind.  He  said  he  felt  that  he  owed  me  a 
job,  but  business  is  so  bad  he  couldn't  make  a  place 
for  me.  He  told  me  he  is  now  carrying  a  dozen 
ex-service  men  merely  because  he  hasn't  the  heart 
to  let  them  go.  I  believe  him." 

"Well,  my  dear  boy — my  dear  young  friend! 
Why  do  you  come  to  me?" 

"Because/'  Mr.  Peck  replied  smilingly,  "I  want 
you  to  go  over  their  heads  and  give  me  a  job.  I 
don't  care  a  hoot  what  it  is,  provided  I  can  do  it. 
If  I  can  do  it,  I'll  do  it  better  than  it  was  ever  done 
before,  and  if  I  can't  do  that  I'll  quit  to  save  you 
the  embarrassment  of  firing  me.  I'm  not  an  object 
of  charity,  but  Pm  scarcely  the  man  I  used  to  be 
and  I'm  four  years  behind  the  procession  and  have 
to  catch  up.  I  have  the  best  of  references " 

"I  see  you  have,"  Cappy  cut  in  blandly,  and 
pressed  the  push-button  on  his  desk.  Mr.  Skinner 
entered.  He  glanced  disapprovingly  at  Vfilliam 
E.  Peck  and  then  turned  inquiring  eyes  toward 
Cappy  Kicks. 

"Skinner,  dear  boy,"  Cappy  purred  amiably, 
"I've  been  thinking  over  the  proposition  to  send 
Andrews  out  to  the  Shanghai  office,  and  I've  come 
to  this  conclusion.  We'll  have  to  take  a  chance. 
At  the  present  time  that  office  is  in  charge  of  a 
stenographer,  and  we've  got  to  get  a  manager  on 
the  job  without  further  loss  of  time.  So  I'll  tell 


THE  GO-GETTER  23 

you  what  we'll  do.  We'll  send  Andrews  out  on  the 
next  boat,  but  inform  him  that  his  position  is  tem 
porary.  Then  if  he  doesn't  make  good  out  there 
we  can  take  him  back  into  this  office,  where  he  is  a 
most  valuable  man.  Meanwhile — ahem !  hum-m-m ! 
Harumph! — meanwhile,  you'd  oblige  me  greatly, 
Skinner,  my  dear  boy,  if  you  would  consent  to  take 
this  young  man  into  your  office  and  give  him  a  good 
work-out  to  see  the  stuff  he's  made  of.  As  a  favor 
to  me,  Skinner,  my  dear  boy,  as  a  favor  to  me." 

Mr.  Skinner,  in  the  language  of  the  sporting 
world,  was  down  for  the  count — and  knew  it. 
Young  Mr.  Peck  knew  it  too,  and  smiled  graciously 
upon  the  general  manager,  for  young  Mr.  Peck  had 
been  in  the  army,  where  one  of  the  first  great  les 
sons  to  be  assimilated  is  this:  that  the  command 
ing  general's  request  is  always  tantamount  to  an 
order. 

"Very  well,  sir,"  Mr.  Skinner  replied  coldly. 
"Have  you  arranged  the  compensation  to  be  given 
Mr.  Peck?" 

Cappy  threw  up  a  deprecating  hand.  "That  de 
tail  is  entirely  up  to  you,  Skinner.  Far  be  it  from 
me  to  interfere  in  the  internal  administration  of 
your  department.  Naturally  you  will  pay  Mr.  Peck 
what  he  is  worth  and  not  a  cent  more."  He  turned 
to  the  triumphant  Peck.  "Now,  you  listen  to  me, 
young  feller.  If  you  think  you're  slipping  grace- 


24  THE  GO-GETTER 

fully  into  a  good  thing,  disabuse  your  mind  of  that 
impression  right  now.  You'll  step  right  up  to  the 
plate,  my  son,  and  you'll  hit  the  ball  fairly  on  the 
nose,  and  you'll  do  it  early  and  often.  The  first 
time  you  tip  a  foul,  you'll  be  warned.  The  second 
time  you  do  it  you'll  get  a  month's  lay-off  to  think 
it  over,  and  the  third  time  you'll  be  out — for  keeps. 
Do  I  make  myself  clear?" 

"You  do,  sir/'  Mr.  Peck  declared  happily.  "All 
I  ask  is  fighting  room  and  I'll  hack  my  way  into 
Mr.  Skinner's  heart.  Thank  you,  Mr.  Skinner,  for 
consenting  to  take  me  on.  I  appreciate  your  action 
very,  very  much  and  shall  endeavor  to  be  worthy 
of  your  confidence." 

"Young  scoundrel !  In-fer-nal  young  scoundrel  !" 
Gappy  murmured  to  himself.  "He  has  a  sense  of 
humor,  thank  God!  Ah,  poor  old  narrow-gauge 
Skinner!  If  that  fellow  ever  gets  a  new  or  uncon 
ventional  thought  in  his  stodgy  head,  it'll  kill  him 
overnight.  He's  hopping  mad  right  now,  because 
he  can't  say  a  word  in  his  own  defense,  but  if  he 
doesn't  make  hell  look  like  a  summer  holiday  for 
Mr.  Bill  Peck,  Pm  due  to  be  mercifully  chloro 
formed.  Good  Lord,  how  empty  life  would  be  if  T 
couldn't  butt  in  and  raise  a  little  riot  every  once  in 
so  often." 

Young  Mr.  Peck  had  risen  and  was  standing  at 


THE  GO-GETTER  25 

attention.     "When  do  I  report  for  duty,  sir?"  he 
queried  of  Mr.  Skinner. 

"Whenever  you're  ready/'  Skinner  retorted  with 
a  wintry  smile.  Mr.  Peck  glanced  at  a  cheap  wrist 
watch.  "It's  twelve  o'clock  now,"  he  soliloquized 
aloud.  "I'll  pop  out,  wrap  myself  around  some 
rations  and  report  on  the  job  at  one  P.  M.  I 
might  just  as  well  knock  out  half  a  day's  pay.'7 
He  glanced  at  Cappy  Kicks  and  quoted : 

"Count  that  day  lost  whose  low  descending  sun 
Finds  prices  shot  to  glory  and  business  done  for  fun." 

Unable  to  maintain  his  composure  in  the  face 
of  such  levity  during  office  hours,  Mr.  Skinner 
withdrew,  still  wrapped  in  his  sub-Antarctic 
dignity.  As  the  door  closed  behind  him,  Mr.  Peck's 
eyebrows  went  up  in  a  manner  indicative  of  ap 
prehension. 

"I'm  off  to  a  bad  start,  Mr.  Kicks,"  he  opined. 

"You  only  asked  for  a  start,"  Cappy  piped  back 
at  him.  "I  didn't  guarantee  you  a  good  start,  and 
I  wouldn't  because  I  can't.  I  can  only  drive  Skin 
ner  and  Matt  Peasley  so  far — and  no  farther. 
There's  always  a  point  at  which  I  quit — er — ah — 
William." 

"More  familiarly  known  as  Bill  Peck,  sir." 

"Very  well,  Bill."  Cappy  slid  out  to  the  edge 
of  his  chair  and  peered  at  Bill  Peck  balefully  over 


26  THE  GO-GETTER 

the  top  of  his  spectacles.  "I'll  have  my  eye  on  you, 
young  feller,"  he  shrilled.  "I  freely  acknowledge 
our  indebtedness  to  you,  but  the  day  you  get  the 
notion  in  your  head  that  this  office  is  an  old  sol 
diers'  home — "  He  paused  thoughtfully.  "I  won 
der  what  Skinner  will  pay  you?"  he  mused.  "Oh, 
well,"  he  continued,  "whatever  it  is,  take  it  and  say 
nothing  and  when  the  moment  is  propitious — and 
provided  you've  earned  it — I'll  intercede  with  the 
danged  old  relic  and  get  you  a  raise." 

"Thank  you  very  much,  sir.  You  are  most  kind. 
Good-day,  sir." 

And  Bill  Peck  picked  up  his  hat  and  limped  out 
of  The  Presence.  Scarcely  had  the  door  closed 
behind  him  than  Mr.  Skinner  re-entered  Cappy 
Ricks'  lair.  He  opened  his  mouth  to  speak,  but 
Cappy  silenced  him  with  an  imperious  finger. 

"Not  a  peep  out  of  you,  Skinner,  my  dear  boy," 
he  chirped  amiably.  "I  know  exactly  what  you're 
going  to  say  and  I  admit  your  right  to  say  it,  but — 
ah — ahem !  Harumph-h-h ! — now,  Skinner,  listen  to 
reason.  How  the  devil  could  you  have  the  heart  to 
reject  that  crippled  ex-soldier?  There  he  stood, 
on  one  sound  leg,  with  his  left  sleeve  tucked  into 
his  coat  pocket  and  on  his  homely  face  the  grin  of 
an  unwhipped,  unbeatable  man.  But  you — blast 
your  cold,  unfeeling  soul,  Skinner ! — looked  him  in 


THE  GO-GETTER  27 

the  eye  and  turned  him  down  like  a  drunkard  turns 
down  near-beer.  Skinner,  how  could  you  do  it?" 

Undaunted  by  Cappy's  admonitory  finger,  Mr. 
Skinner  struck  a  distinctly  defiant  attitude. 

"There  is  no  sentiment  in  business,"  he  replied 
angrily.  "A  week  ago  last  Thursday  the  local  posts 
of  the  American  Legion  commenced  their  organized 
drive  for  jobs  for  their  crippled  and  unemployed 
comrades,  and  within  three  days  you've  sawed  off 
two  hundred  and  nine  such  jobs  on  the  various 
corporations  that  you  control.  The  gang  you 
shipped  up  to  the  mill  in  Washington  has  already 
applied  for  a  charter  for  a  new  post  to  be  known 
as  Gappy  Kicks  Post  No.  534.  And  you  had  ex 
perienced  men  discharged  to  make  room  for  these 
ex-soldiers." 

"You  bet  I  did,"  Cappy  yelled  triumphantly. 
"It's  always  Old  Home  Week  in  every  logging  camp 
and  saw-mill  in  the  Northwest  for  I.  W.  W.'s  and 
revolutionary  communists.  I'm  sick  of  their  un 
authorized  strikes  and  sabotage,  and  by  the  Holy 
Pink-toed  Prophet,  Cappy  Ricks  Post,  No.  534, 
American  Legion,  is  the  only  sort  of  back-fire  I  can 
•think  of  to  put  the  Wobblies  on  the  run." 

"Every  office  and  ghip  and  retail  yard  could  be 
run  by  a  first-sergeant,"  Skinner  complained.  "I'm 
thinking  of  having  reveille  and  retreat  and  bugle 
calls  and  Saturday  morning  inspections.  I  tell 


28  THE  GO-GETTER 

/ 

you,  sir,  /the  Ricks  interests  have  absorbed  all  the 
old  soldiers  possible  and  at  the  present  moment 
those  interests  are  overflowing  with  glory.  What 
we/ want  are  workers,  not  talkers.  These  ex- 
soldiers  spend  too  much  time  fighting  their  bat 
tles  over  again." 

f      "Well,  Comrade  Peck  is  the  last  one  I'll  ask  you 
\to  absorb,   Skinner,"   Cappy  promised  contritely^ 
"Ev^r    read    Kipling's    Barrack    Room    Ballads, 
Skinner?" 

"I  haXe  no  time  to  read,"  Mr.  Skinner  protested. 

"Go  upHown  this  minute  and  buy  a  copy  and 
read  one  ball^dentitled  'Tommy,' "  Cappy  barked. 
"For  the  good  oKyour  immortal  soul,"  he  added. 

"Well,  Comrade  Feck  doesn't  make  a  hit  with 
me,  Mr.  Ricks.  He  applied  to  me  for  a  job  and  I 
gave  him  his  answer.  Then  he  went  to  Captain 
Matt  and  was  refused,  so,  just  to  demonstrate  his 
bad  taste,  he  went  over  our  heads  and  induced  you 
to  pitchfork  him  into  a  job.  He'll  curse  the  day  he 
was  inspired  to  do  that." 

"Skinner!  Skinner!  Look  me  in  the  eye!  Do 
you  know  why  I  asked  you  to  take  on  Bill  Peck?" 

"I  do.  Because  you're  too  tender-hearted  for 
your  own  good." 

"You  unimaginative  dunderhead!  You  jibber- 
ing  jackdaw !  How  could  I  reject  a  boy  who  sim 
ply  would  not  be  rejected?  Why,  I'll  bet  a  ripe 


THE  GO-GETTER  29 

peach  that  Bill  Peck  was  one  of  the  doggondest 
finest  soldiers  you  ever  saw.  He  carries  his  objec 
tive.  He  sized  you  up  just  like  that,  Skinner.  He 
declined  to  permit  you  to  block  him.  Skinner,  that 
Peck  person  has  been  opposed  by  experts.  Yes, 
sir — experts !  What  kind  of  a  job  are  you  going  to 
give  him,  Skinner,  my  dear  boy?" 

"Andrews'  job,  of  course." 

"Oh,  yes,  I  forgot.  Skinner,  dear  boy,  haven't 
we  got  about  half  a  million  feet  of  skunk  spruce 
to  saw  off  on  somebody?  Mr.  Skinner  nodded  and 
Cappy  continued  wTith  all  the  naive  eagerness  of 
one  who  has  just  made  a  marvelous  discovery, 
which  he  is  confident  will  revolutionize  science. 
"Give  him  that  stinking  stuff  to  peddle,  Skinner, 
and  if  you  can  dig  up  a  couple  of  dozen  carloads 
of  red  fir  or  bull  pine  in  transit,  or  some  short  or 
odd-length  stock,  or  some  larch  ceiling  or  flooring, 
or  some  hemlock  random  stock — in  fact,  anything 
the  trade  doesn't  want  as  a  gift — you  get  me,  don't 
you,  Skinner?" 

Mr.  Skinner  smiled  his  swordfish  smile.  "And 
if  he  fails  to  make  good — au  revoir,  eh?" 

"Yes,  I  suppose  so,  although  I  hate  to  think 
about  it.  On  the  other  hand,  if  he  makes  good  he's 
to  have  Andrews'  salary.  We  must  be  fair,  Skin 
ner.  Whatever  our  faults  we  must  always  be  fair.'' 
He  rose  and  patted  the  general  manager's  lean 


30  THE  GO-GETTER 

shoulder.  "There,  there,  Skinner,  my  boy.  For 
give  me  if  I've  been  a  trifle — ah — ahem! — precipi 
tate  and — er — harumph-h-h !  Skinner,  if  you  put 
a  prohibitive  price  on  that  skunk  fir,  by  the  Holy 
Pink-toed  Prophet,  I'll  fire  you!  Be  fair,  boy,  be 
fair.  No  dirty  work,  Skinner.  Remember,  Com 
rade  Peck  has  half  of  his  left  forearm  buried  in 
France." 


AT  twelve-thirty,  as  Cappy  was  hurrying  up  Cali 
fornia  Street  to  luncheon  at  the  Commercial 
Club,  he  met  Bill  Peck  limping  down  the  sidewalk. 
The  ex-soldier  stopped  him  and  handed  him  a  card. 
"What  do  you  think  of  that,  sir?"  he  queried. 
"Isn't  it  a  neat  business  card?" 
Cappy  read: 


KICKS  LIMBER  &  LOGGING  COMPANY 

Lumber  and  its  products 
248  California  St. 

San  Francisco. 
Represented  l}y 
William    E.    Peck 

//  you  can  drive  nails  in  it — we  have  it! 


Cappy  Ricks  ran  a  speculative  thumb  over 
Comrade  Peck's  business  card.  It  was  engraved. 
And  copper  plates  or  steel  dies  are  not  made  in  half 
an  hour! 

"By  the  Twelve  Ragged  Apostles!'  This  was 
Cappy's  most  terrible  oath  and  he  never  employed 
it  unless  rocked  to  his  very  foundations.  "Bill,  as 
one  bandit  to  another — come  clean.  When  did  you 
first  make  up  your  mind  to  go  to  work  for  us?" 

31 


32  THE  GO-GETTEK 

"A  week  ago,"  Comrade  Peck  replied  blandly. 

"And  what  was  your  grade  when  Kaiser  Bill 
went  A.  W.  0.  L.?" 

"I  was  a  buck." 

"I  don't  believe  you.  Didn't  anybody  ever  offer 
you  something  better?" 

"Frequently.  However,  if  I  had  accepted  I 
would  have  had  to  resign  the  nicest  job  I  ever  had. 
There  wasn't  much  money  in  it,  but  it  was  filled 
with  excitement  and  interesting  experiments.  I 
used  to  disguise  myself  as  a  Christmas  tree  or  a 
box  car  and  pick  off  German  sharp-shooters.  I  was 
known  as  Peck's  Bad  Boy.  I  was  often  tempted  to 
quit,  but  whenever  I'd  reflect  on  the  number  of 
American  lives  I  was  saving  daily,  a  commission 
was  just  a  scrap  of  paper  to  me." 

"If  you'd  ever  started  in  any  other  branch  of  the 
service  you'd  have  run  John  J.  Pershing  down  to 
lance  corporal.  Bill,  listen!  Have  you  ever  had 
any  experience  selling  skunk  spruce?" 

Comrade  Peck  was  plainly  puzzled.  He  shook 
his  head.  "What  sort  of  stock  is  it?"  he  asked. 

"Humboldt  County,  California,  spruce,  and  it's 
coarse  and  stringy  and  wet  and  heavy  and  smells 
just  like  a  skunk  directly  after  using.  I'm  afraid 
Skinner's  going  to  start  you  at  the  bottom — and 
skunk  spruce  is  it." 

"Can  you  drive  nails  in  it,  Mr.  Kicks?" 


THE  GO-GETTER  33 

"Oh,  yes." 

"Does  anybody  ever  buy  skunk  spruce,  sir?" 

"Oh,  occasionally  one  of  our  bright  young  men 
digs  up  a  half-wit  who's  willing  to  try  anything 
once.  Otherwise,  of  course,  we  would  not  continue 
to  manufacture  it.  Fortunately,  Bill,  we  have  very 
little  of  it,  but  whenever  our  woods  boss  runs  across 
a  good  tree  he  hasn't  the  heart  to  leave  it  standing, 
and  as  a  result,  we  always  have  enough  skunk 
spruce  on  hand  to  keep  our  salesmen  humble." 

"I  can  sell  anything — at  a  price,"  Comrade  Peck 
replied  unconcernedly,  and  continued  on  his  way 
back  to  the  office. 


IV 


two  months  Gappy  Ricks  saw  nothing  of  Bill 
Peck.  That  enterprising  veteran  had  been  sent 
out  into  the  Utah,  Arizona,  New  Mexico  and  Texas 
territory  the  moment  he  had  familiarized  himself 
with  the  numerous  details  regarding  freight  rates, 
weights  and  the  mills  he  represented,  all  things 
which  a  salesman  should  be  familiar  with  before  he 
starts  out  on  the  road.  From  Salt  Lake  City  he 
wired  in  an  order  for  two  carloads  of  larch  rustic 
and  in  Ogden  he  managed  to  inveigle  a  retail  yard 
with  which  Mr.  Skinner  had  been  trying  to  do  busi 
ness  for  years,  into  sampling  a  carload  of  skunk 
spruce  boards,  random  lengths  and  grades,  at  a 
dollar  above  the  price  given  him  by  Skinner.  In 
Arizona  he  worked  up  some  new  business  in  mining 
timbers,  but  it  was  not  until  he  got  into  the  heart 
of  Texas  that  Comrade  Peck  really  commenced  to 
demonstrate  his  selling  ability.  Standard  oil  der 
ricks  were  his  specialty  and  he  shot  the  orders  in 
so  fast  that  Mr.  Skinner  was  forced  to  wire  him  for 
mercy  and  instruct  him  to  devote  his  talent  to  the 
disposal  of  cedar  shingles  and  siding,  Douglas  fir 

34 


THE  GO-GETTER  35 

and  redwood.  Eventually  he  completed  his  circle 
and  worked  his  way  home,  via  Los  Angeles,  pausing 
however,  in  the  San  Joaquin  Valley  to  sell  two 
more  carloads  of  skunk  spruce.  When  this  order 
was  wired  in,  Mr.  Skinner  came  to  Cappy  Eicks 
with  the  telegram. 

"Well,  I  must  admit  Comrade  Peck  can  sell  lum 
ber,"  he  announced  grudgingly.  "He  has  secured 
five  new  accounts  and  here  is  an  order  for  two 
more  carloads  of  skunk  spruce.  I'll  have  to  raise 
his  salary  about  the  first  of  the  year." 

"My  dear  Skinner,  why  the  devil  wait  until  the 
first  of  the  year?  Your  pernicious  habit  of  defer 
ring  the  inevitable  parting  with  money  has  cost 
us  the  services  of  more  than  one  good  man.  You 
know  you  have  to  raise  Comrade  Peck's  salary 
sooner  or  later,  so  why  not  do  it  now  and  smile 
like  a  dentifrice  advertisement  while  you're  doing 
it?  Comrade  Peck  will  feel  a  whole  lot  better  as 
a  result,  and  who  knows?  He  may  conclude  you're 
a  human  being,  after  all,  and  learn  to  love  you?" 

"Very  well,  sir.  I'll  give  him  the  same  salary 
Andrews  was  getting  before  Peck  took  over  his 
territory." 

"Skinner,  you  make  it  impossible  for  me  to  re 
frain  from  showing  you  who's  boss  around  here. 
He's  better  than  Andrews,  isn't  he?" 

"I  think  he  is,  sir." 


36  THE  GO-GETTER 

"Well  then,  for  the  love  of  a  square  deal,  pay 
him  more  and  pay  it  to  him  from  the  first  day 
he  went  to  work.  Get  out.  You  make  me  nervous. 
By  the  way,  how  is  Andrews  getting  along  in  his 
Shanghai  job?" 

"He's  helping  the  cable  company  pay  its  income 
tax.  Cables  about  three  times  a  week  on  matters 
he  should  decide  for  himself.  Matt  Peasley  is  dis 
gusted  with  him." 

"Ah!  Well,  I'm  not  disappointed.  And  I  sup 
pose  Matt  will  be  in  here  before  long  to  remind 
me  that  I  was  the  bright  boy  who  picked  Andrews 
for  the  job.  Well,  I  did,  but  I  call  upon  you  to 
remember,  Skinner,  when  I'm  assailed,  that 
Andrews'  appointment  was  temporary." 

"Yes,  sir,  it  was." 

"Well,  I  suppose  I'll  have  to  cast  about  for  his 
successor  and  beat  Matt  out  of  his  cheap  <I  told 
you  so'  triumph.  I  think  Comrade  Peck  has  some 
of  the  earmarks  of  a  good  manager  for  our  Shang 
hai  office,  but  I'll  have  to  test  him  a  little  further." 
He  looked  up  humorously  at  Mr.  Skinner.  "Skin 
ner,  my  dear  boy/'  he  continued,  "I'm  going  to  have 
him  deliver  a  blue  vase." 

Mr.  Skinner's  cold  features  actually  glowed. 
"Well,  tip  the  chief  of  police  and  the  proprietor 
of  the  store  off  this  time  and  save  yourself  some 
money,"  he  warned  Cappy.  He  walked  to  the  win- 


THE  GO-GETTEK  37 

dow  and  looked  down  into  California  Street.  He 
continued  to  smile. 

"Yes,"  Cappy  continued  dreamily,  "I  think  I 
shall  give  him  the  thirty-third  degree.  You'll  agree 
with  me,  Skinner,  that  if  he  delivers  the  blue  vase 
he'll  be  worth  ten  thousand  dollars  a  year  as  our 
Oriental  manager?" 

"I'll  say  he  will,"  Mr.  Skinner  replied  slangily. 

"Very  well,  then.  Arrange  matters,  Skinner, 
so  that  he  will  be  available  for  me  at  one  o'clock, 
a  week  from  Sunday.  I'll  attend  to  the  other  de 
tails." 

Mr.  Skinner  nodded.  He  was  still  chuckling 
when  he  departed  for  his  own  office. 


A  WEEK  from  the  succeeding  Saturday,  Mr. 
•***  Skinner  did  not  come  down  to  the  office,  but  a 
telephone  message  from  his  home  informed  the 
chief  clerk  that  Mr.  Skinner  was  at  home  and  some 
what  indisposed.  The  chief  clerk  was  to  advise  Mr. 
Peck  that  he,  Mr.  Skinner,  had  contemplated  hav 
ing  a  conference  with  the  latter  that  day,  but  that 
his  indisposition  would  prevent  this.  Mr.  Skin 
ner  hoped  to  be  feeling  much  better  to-morrow,  and 
since  he  was  very  desirous  of  a  conference  with 
Mr.  Peck  before  the  latter  should  depart  on  his  next 
selling  pilgrimage,  on  Monday,  would  Mr.  Peck 
be  good  enough  to  call  at  Mr.  Skinner's  house 
at  one  o'clock  Sunday  afternoon?  Mr.  Peck  sent 
back  word  that  he  would  be  there  at  the  appointed 
time  and  was  rewarded  with  Mr.  Skinner's  thanks, 
via  the  chief  clerk. 

Promptly  at  one  o'clock  the  following  day,  Bill 
Peck  reported  at  the  general  manager's  house.  He 
found  Mr.  Skinner  in  bed,  reading  the  paper  and 
looking  surprisingly  well.  He  trusted  Mr.  Skinner 
felt  better  than  he  looked.  Mr.  Skinner  did,  and  at 


THE  GO-GETTER  39 

once  entered  into  a  discussion  of  the  new  customers, 
other  prospects  he  particularly  desired  Mr.  Peck 
to  approach,  new  business  to  be  investigated,  and 
further  details  without  end.  And  in  the  midst  of 
this" conference  Cappy  Ricks  telephoned. 

A  portable  telephone  stood  on  a  commode  beside 
Mr.  Skinner's  bed,  so  the  latter  answered  immedi 
ately.  Comrade  Peck  watched  Skinner  listen  at 
tentively  for  fully  two  minutes,  then  heard  him 
say: 

"Mr.  Ricks,  I'm  terribly  sorry.  I'd  love  to  do  this 
errand  for  you,  but  really  I'm  under  the  weather. 
In  fact,  I'm  in  bed  as  I  speak  to  you  now.  But 
Mr.  Peck  is  here  with  me  and  I'm  sure  he'll  be  very 
happy  to  attend  to  the  matter  for  you." 

"By  all  means,"  Bill  Peck  hastened  to  assure 
the  general  manager.  "Who  does  Mr.  Ricks  want 
killed  and  where  will  he  have  the  body  delivered?" 

"Hah-hah!  Hah-hah!"  Mr.  Skinner  had  a 
singularly  annoying,  mirthless  laugh,  as  if  he  be 
grudged  himself  such  an  unheard-of  indulgence. 
"Mr.  Peck  says,"  he  informed  Cappy,  "that  he'll 
be  delighted  to  attend  to  the  matter  for  you.  He 
wants  to  know  whom  you  want  killed  and  where 
you  wish  the  body  delivered.  Hah-hah!  Hah! 
Peck,  Mr.  Ricks  will  speak  to  you." 

Bill  Peck  took  the  telephone.  "Good-afternoon, 
Mr.  Ricks." 


40  THE  GO-GETTER 

"Hello,  old  soldier.  What  are  you  doing  this 
afternoon?" 

"Nothing — after  I  conclude  my  conference  with 
Mr.  Skinner.  By  the  way,  he  has  just  given  me 
a  most  handsome  boost  in  salary,  for  which  I  am 
most  appreciative.  I  feel,  however,  despite  Mr. 
Skinner's  graciousness,  that  you  have  put  in  a  kind 
word  for  me  with  him,  and  I  want  to  thank 
you " 

"Tut,  tut.  Not  a  peep  out  of  you,  sir.  Not  a 
peep.  You  get  nothing  for  nothing  from  Skinner 
or  me.  However,  in  view  of  the  fact  that  you're 
feeling  kindly  toward  me  this  afternoon,  I  wish 
you'd  do  a  little  errand  for  me.  I  can't  send  a  boy 
and  I  hate  to  make  a  messenger  out  of  you — er — 
ah — ahem!  That  is,  harumph-h-h !" 

"I  have  no  false  pride,  Mr.  Ricks." 

"Thank  you,  Bill.  Glad  you  feel  that  way  about 
it.  Bill,  I  was  prowling  around  town  this  fore 
noon,  after  church,  and  down  in  a  store  on  Sutter 
Street,  between  Stockton  and  Powell  Street, 
on  the  right  hand  side  as  you  face  Market 
Street,  I  saw  a  blue  vase  in  a  window.  I  have  a 
weakness  for  vases,  Bill.  I'm  a  sharp  on  them, 
too.  Now,  this  vase  I  saw  isn't  very  expensive  as 
vases  go — in  fact,  I  wouldn't  buy  it  for  my  collec 
tion — but  one  of  the  finest  and  sweetest  ladies  of 
my  acquaintance  has  the  mate  to  that  blue  vase 


THE  GO-GETTER  41 

I  saw  in  the  window,  and  I  know  she'd  be  prouder 
than  Punch  if  she  had  two  of  them — one  for  each 
side  of  her  drawing  room  mantel,  understand? 

"Now,  I'm  leaving  from  the  Southern  Pacific 
depot  at  eight  o'clock  to-night,  bound  for  Santa 
Barbara  to  attend  her  wedding  anniversary  to-mor 
row  night.  I  forget  what  anniversary  it  is,  Bill, 
but  I  have  been  informed  by  my  daughter  that  I'll 
be  very  much  de  trop  if  I  send  her  any  present 
other  than  something  in  porcelain  or  China  or 
Cloisonne — well,  Bill,  this  crazy  little  blue  vase 
just  fills  the  order.  Understand?" 

"Yes,  sir.  You  feel  that  it  would  be  most  grace 
ful  on  your  part  if  you  could  bring  this  little  blue 
vase  down  to  Santa  Barbara  with  you  to-night.  You 
have  to  have  it  to-night,  because  if  you  wait  until 
the  store  opens  on  Monday  the  vase  will  reach  your 
hostess  twenty-four  hours  after  her  anniversary 
party." 

"Exactly,  Bill.  Now,  I've  simply  got  to  have  that 
vase.  If  I  had  discovered  it  yesterday  I  wouldn't 
be  asking  you  to  get  it  for  me  to-day,  Bill." 

"Please  do  not  make  any  explanations  or  apol 
ogies,  Mr.  Kicks.  You  have  described  the  vase — 
no  you  haven't.  What  sort  of  blue  is  it,  how  tall 
is  it  and  what  is,  approximately,  its  greatest  di 
ameter?  Does  it  set  on  a  base,  or  does  it  not?  Is 
it  a  solid  blue,  or  is  it  figured?" 


THE  GO-GETTER 


"It's  a  Cloisonne  vase,  Bill — sort  of  old  Dutch 
blue,  or  Delft,  with  some  Oriental  funny-business 
on  it.  I  couldn't  describe  it  exactly,  but  it  has  some 
birds  and  flowers  on  it.  It's  about  a  foot  tall  and 
four  inches  in  diameter  and  sets  on  a  teak-wood 
base." 

"Very  well,  sir.    You  shall  have  it." 

"And  you'll  deliver  it  to  me  in  stateroom  A, 
car  7,  aboard  the  train  at  Third  and  Townsend 
Streets,  at  seven  fifty-five  to-night  ?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Thank  vou,  Bill.  The  expense  will  be  trifling, 
cashier  in  the  morning,  and  tell 
mv  account."  And  Cappy  hung 


er  took  up  the  thread  of  the 
and  it  was  not  until  three 
left  his  house  and  proceeded 
appy  Kick's  blue  vase, 
e  block  in  Sutter  Street  be- 
Powell  Streets,  and  although 
up  one  side  of  the  street  and 
a  single  vase  of  any  descrip- 
shop  window,  nor  could  he  find 


not 


in  any 


a  single  shop  where  such  a  vase  as  Cappy  had 

described  might,  perchance,  be  displayed  for  sale. 

"I  think  the  old  boy  has  erred  in  the  co-ordinates 


£  THE  GO-GETTER  43 

of  the  target,"  Bill  Peck  concluded,  "or  else  I  mis 
understood  him.  I'll  telephone  his  house  and  ask 
him  to  repeat  them." 

He  did,  but  nobody  was  at  home  except  a  Swed 
ish  maid,  and  all  she  knew  was  that  Mr.  Kicks  was 
out  and  the  hour  of  his  return  was  unknown.  So 
Mr.  Peck  went  back  to  Sutter  Street  and  scoured 
once  more  every  shop  window  in  the  block.  Then 
he  scouted  two  blocks  above  Powell  and  two  blocks 
below  Stockton.  Still  the  blue  vase  remained  in 
visible. 

So  he  transferred  his  search  to  a  corresponding 
area  on  Bush  Street,  and  when  that  failed,  he  went 
painstakingly  over  four  blocks  of  Post  Street.  He 
was  still  without  results  when  he  moved  one  block 
further  west  and  one  further  south  and  discovered 
the  blue  vase  in  a  huge  plate-glass  window  of  a 
shop  on  Geary  Street  near  Grant  Avenue.  He  sur 
veyed  it  critically  and  was  convinced  that  it  was 
the  object  he  sought, 

He  tried  the  door,  but  it  was  locked,  as  he  had 
anticipated  it  would  be.  So  he  kicked  the  door 
and  raised  an  infernal  racket,  hoping  against  hope 
that  the  noise  might  bring  a  watchman  from  the 
rear  of  the  building.  In  vain.  He  backed  out  to 
the  edge  of  the  sidewalk  and  read  the  sign  over 
the  door: 


44  THE  GO-GETTER 


B.  Cohen's  Art  Shop 

This  was  a  start,  so  Mr.  Peck  limped  over  to  the 
Palace  Hotel  and  procured  a  telephone  directory. 
By  actual  count  there  were  nineteen  B.  Cohens 
scattered  throughout  the  city,  so  before  commenc 
ing  to  call  the  nineteen,  Bill  Peck  borrowed  the 
city  directory  from  the  hotel  clerk  and  scanned 
it  for  the  particular  B.  Cohen  who  owned  the  art 
shop.  His  search  availed  him  nothing.  B.  Cohen 
was  listed  as  an  art  dealer  at  the  address  where 
the  blue  vase  reposed  in  the  show  window.  That 
was  all. 

"I  suppose  he's  a  commuter,"  Mr.  Peck  con 
cluded,  and  at  once  proceeded  to  procure  direc 
tories  of  the  adjacent  cities  of  Berkeley,  Oakland 
and  Alameda.  They  were  not  available,  so  in  de 
spair  he  changed  a  dollar  into  five  cent  pieces, 
sought  a  telephone  booth  and  commenced  calling 
up  all  the  B.  Cohens  in  San  Francisco.  Of  the 
nineteen,  four  did  not  answer,  three  were  tempo 
rarily  disconnected,  six  replied  in  Yiddish,  five  were 
not  the  B.  Cohen  he  sought,  and  one  swore  he  was 
Irish  and  that  his  name  was  spelled  Cohan  and 
pronounced  with  an  accent  on  both  syllables. 

The  B.  Cohens  resident  in  Berkeley,  Oakland, 
Alameda,  San  Rafael,  Sausalito,  Mill  Valley,  San 
Mateo,  Redwood  City  and  Palo  Alto  were  next  tele- 


THE  GO-GETTER  45 

phoned  to,  and  when  this  long  and  expensive  task 
was  done,  Ex-Private  Bill  Peck  emerged  from  the 
telephone  booth  wringing  wet  with  perspiration 
and  as  irritable  as  a  clucking  hen.  Once  outside  the 
hotel  he  raised  his  haggard  face  to  heaven  and 
dumbly  queried  of  the  Almighty  what  He  meant 
by  saving  him  from  quick  death  on  the  field  of 
honor  only  to  condemn  him  to  be  talked  to  death 
by  B.  Cohens  in  civil  life. 

It  was  now  six  o'clock.  Suddenly  Peck  had  an 
inspiration.  Was  the  name  spelled  Cohen,  Cohan, 
Cohn,  Kohn  or  Coen? 

"If  I  have  to  take  a  Jewish  census  again  to 
night  I'll  die/'  he  told  himself  desperately,  and 
went  back  to  the  art  shop. 

The  sign  read :    B.  COHN'S  AKT  SHOP. 

"I  wish  I  knew  a  bootlegger's  joint,"  poor  Peck 
complained.  "I'm  pretty  far  gone  and  a  little  wood 
alcohol  couldn't  hurt  me  much  now.  Why,  I  could 
have  sworn  that  name  was  spelled  with  an  E.  It 
seems  to  me  I  noted  that  particularly." 

He  went  back  to  the  hotel  telephone  booth  and 
commenced  calling  up  all  the  B.  Cohns  in  town. 
There  were  eight  of  them  and  six  of  them  were 
out,  one  was  maudlin  with  liquor  and  the  other  was 
very  deaf  and  shouted  unintelligibly. 

"Peace  hath  its  barbarities  no  less  than  war," 
Mr.  Peck  sighed.  He  changed  a  twenty-dollar  bill 


46  THE  GO-GETTER 

into  nickels,  dimes  and  quarters,  returned  to  the 
hot,  ill-smelling  telephone  booth  and  proceeded:,  to 
lay  down  a  barrage  of  telephone  calls  to  the  B. 
Cohns  of  all  towns  of  any  importance  contiguous 
to  San  Francisco  Bay.  And  he  was  lucky.  On  the 
sixth  call  he  located  the  particular  B.  Cohn  in  San 
Kafael,  only  to  be  informed  by  Mr.  Cohn's  cook  that 
Mr.  Cohn  was  dining  at  the  home  of  a  Mr.  Simons 
in  Mill  Valley. 

There  were  three  Mr.  Simons  in  Mill  Valley, 
and  Peck  called  them  all  before  connecting  with  the 
right  one.  Yes,  Mr.  B.  Cohn  was  there.  Who 
wished  to  speak  to  him?  Mr.  Heck?  Oh,  Mr.  Lake! 
A  silence.  Then  —  "Mr.  Cohn  says  he  doesn't  know 
any  Mr.  Lake  and  wants  to  know  the  nature  of 
your  business.  He  is  dining  and  doesn't  like  to  be 
disturbed  unless  the  matter  is  of  grave  im 
portance." 

"Tell  him  Mr.  Peck  wishes  to  speak  to  him  on 
a  matter  of  very  great  importance,"  wrailed  the  ex- 
private. 

"Mr.  Metz?    Mr.  Ben  Metz?" 

"No,  no,  no.    Peck  —  p-e-c-k." 

"D-e-c-k?" 

"No,  P." 


"Oh,  yes,  E.    E—  what?" 


THE  GO-GETTEE  47 

«C-K " 

"Oh,  yes,  Mr.  Eckstein." 

"Call  Cohn  to  the  'phone  or  I'll  go  over  there 
on  the  next  boat  and  kill  you,  you  damned  idiot," 
shrieked  Peck.  "Tell  him  his  store  is  on  fire." 

That  message  was  evidently  delivered  for  almost 
instantly  Mr.  B.  Cohn  was  puffing  and  spluttering 
into  the  'phone. 

"Iss  dot  der  fire  marshal  ?"  he  managed  to  articu 
late. 

"Listen,  Mr.  Cohn.  Your  store  is  not  on  fire, 
but  I  had  to  say  so  in  order  to  get  you  to  the  tele 
phone.  I  am  Mr.  Peck,  a  total  stranger  to  you. 
You  have  a  blue  vase  in  your  shop  window  on  Geary 
Street  in  San  Francisco.  I  want  to  buy  it  and 
I  want  to  buy  it  before  seven  forty-five  to-night. 
I  want  you  to  come  across  the  bay  and  open  the 
store  and  sell  me  that  vase." 

"Such  a  business !    Vot  you  think  I  am  ?    Crazy  ?" 

"No,  Mr.  Cohn,  I  do  not.  I'm  the  only  crazy 
man  talking.  I'm  crazy  for  that  vase  and  I've  got 
to  have  it  right  away." 

"You  know  vot  dot  vase  costs?"  Mr.  B.  Cohn's 
voice  dripped  syrup. 

"No,  and  I  don't  give  a  hoot  what  it  costs.  I 
want  what  I  want  when  I  want  it.  Do  I  get  it?" 

"Ve-ell,  lemme  see.  Vot  time  iss  it?"  A  silence 
while  B.  Cohn  evidently  looked  at  his  watch.  "It 


48  THE  GO-GETTER 

iss  now  a  quarter  of  seven,  Mr.  Eckstein,  und  der 
nexd  drain  from  Mill  Valley  don't  leaf  until  eight 
o'clock.  Dot  vill  get  me  to  San  Francisco  at 
eight-fifty — und  I  am  dining  mit  friends  und  haf 
just  finished  my  soup." 

"To  hell  with  your  soup.    I  want  that  blue  vase." 

"Veil,  I  tell  you,  Mr.  Eckstein,  if  you  got  to  have 
it,  call  up  my  head  salesman,  Herman  Joost,  in  der 
Chilton  Apardments — Prospect  three — two — four 
— nine,  und  tell  him  I  said  he  should  come  down 
right  avay  qvick  und  sell  you  dot  blue  vase.  Good 
bye,  Mr.  Eckstein." 

And  B.  Cohn  hung  up. 

Instantly  Peck  called  Prospect  3249  and  asked 
for  Herman  Joost.  Mr.  Joost's  mother  answered. 
She  was  desolated  because  Herman  was  not  at 
home,  but  vouchsafed  the  information  that  he  was 
dining  at  the  country  club.  Which  country  club? 
She  did  not  know.  So  Peck  procured  from  the 
hotel  clerk  a  list  of  the  country  clubs  in  and  around 
San  Francisco  and  started  calling  them  up.  At 
eight  o'clock  he  was  still  being  informed  that  Mr. 
Juice  was  not  a  member,  that  Mr.  Luce  wasn't  in, 
that  Mr.  Coos  had  been  dead  three  months  and  that 
Mr.  Boos  had  played  but  eight  holes  when  he  re 
ceived  a  telegram  calling  him  back  to  New  York. 
At  the  other  clubs  Mr.  Joust  was  unknown. 

"Licked,"  murmured  Bill  Peck,  "but  never  let  it 


THE  GO-GETTER  49 

be  said  that  I  didn't  go  down  fighting.  I'm  going 
to  heave  a  brick  through  that  show  window,  grab 
the  vase  and  run  with  it." 

He  engaged  a  taxicab  and  instructed  the  driver 
to  wait  for  him  at  the  corner  of  Geary  and  Stock 
ton  Streets.  Also,  he  borrowed  from  the  chauffeur 
a  ball  peen  hammer.  When  he  reached  the  art  shop 
of  B.  Cohn,  however,  a  policeman  was  standing  in 
the  doorway,  violating  the  general  orders  of  a  po 
liceman  on  duty  by  surreptitiously  smoking  a  cigar. 

"He'll  nab  me  if  I  crack  that  window,"  the  des 
perate  Peck  decided,  and  continued  on  down  the 
street,  crossed  to  the  other  side  and  came  back. 
It  was  now  dark  and  over  the  art  shop  B.  Cohn's 
name  burned  in  small  red,  white  and  blue  electric 
lights. 

And  lo,  it  was  spelled  B,  Cohen ! 

Ex-Private  William  E.  Peck  sat  down  on  a  fire 
hydrant  and  cursed  with  rage.  His  weak  leg  hurt 
him,  too,  and  for  some  damnable  reason,  the  stump 
of  his  left  arm  developed  the  feeling  that  his  miss 
ing  hand  was  itchy. 

"The  world  is  filled  with  idiots,"  he  raved  furi 
ously.  "I'm  tired  and  I'm  hungry.  I  skipped 
luncheon  and  I've  been  too  busy  to  think  of  din 
ner." 

He  walked  back  to  his  taxicab  and  returned 
to  the  hotel  where,  hope  springing  eternal  in  his 


50  THE  GO-GETTER 

breast,  he  called  Prospect  3249  again  and  discov 
ered  that  the  missing  Herman  Joost  had  returned 
to  the  bosom  of  his  family.  To  him  the  frantic 
Peck  delivered  the  message  of  B.  Cohn,  whereupon 
the  cautious  Herman  Joost  replied  that  he  would 
confirm  the  authenticity  of  the  message  by  tele 
phoning  to  Mr.  Cohn  at  Mr.  Simon's  home  in  Mill 
Valley.  If  Mr.  B.  Cohn  or  Cohen  confirmed  Mr. 
Kek's  story  he,  the  said  Herman  Joost,  would  be 
at  the  store  sometime  before  nine  o'clock,  and  if 
Mr.  Kek  cared  to,  he  might  await  him  there. 

Mr.  Kek  said  he  would  be  delighted  to  wait  for 
him  there. 

At  nine-fifteen  Herman  Joost  appeared  on  the 
scene.  On  his  way  down  the  street  he  had  taken 
the  precaution  to  pick  up  a  policeman  and  bring 
him  along  with  him.  The  lights  were  switched  on 
in  the  store  and  Mr.  Joost  lovingly  abstracted  the 
blue  vase  from  the  window. 

"What's  the  cursed  thing  worth?"  Peck  de 
manded. 

"Two  thousand  dollars,"  Mr.  Joost  replied  with 
out  so  much  as  the  quiver  of  an  eyelash.  "Cash," 
he  added,  apparently  as  an  afterthought. 

The  exhausted  Peck  leaned  against  the  sturdy 
guardian  of  the  law  and  sighed.  This  was  the 
final  straw.  He  had  about  ten  dollars  in  his  pos 
session. 


THE  GO-GETTER 51 

"You  refuse,  absolutely,  to  accept  my  check  ?" 
he  quavered. 

"I  don't  know  you,  Mr.  Peck,"  Herman  Joost  re 
plied  simply. 

"Where's  your  telephone?" 

Mr.  Joost  led  Peck  to  the  telephone  and  the  lat 
ter  called  up  Mr.  Skinner. 

"Mr.  Skinner,"  he  announced,  "this  is  all  that  is 
mortal  of  Bill  Peck  speaking.  I've  got  the  store 
open  and  for  two  thousand  dollars — cash — I  can 
buy  the  blue  vase  Mr.  Kicks  has  set  his  heart  upon." 

"Oh,  Peck,  dear  fellow,"  Mr.  Skinner  purred 
sympathetically.  "Have  you  been  all  this  time 
on  that  errand?" 

"I  have.  And  I'm  going  to  stick  on  the  job  until 
I  deliver  the  goods.  For  God's  sake  let  me  have 
two  thousand  dollars  and  bring  it  down  to  me  at 
B.  Cohen's  Art  Shop  on  Geary  Street  near  Grant 
Avenue.  I'm  too  utterly  exhausted  to  go  up  after 
it." 

"My  dear  Mr.  Peck,  I  haven't  two  thousand  dol 
lars  in  my  house.  That  is  too  great  a  sum  of  money 
to  keep  on  hand." 

"Well,  then,  come  down-town,  open  up  the  office 
safe  and  get  the  money  for  me." 

"Time  lock  on  the  office  safe,  Peck.    Impossible." 

"Well  then,  come  down-town  and  identify  me  at 


52  THE  GO-GETTER 

hotels  and  cafes  and  restaurants  so  I  can  cash  my 
own  check." 

"Is  your  check  good,  Mr.  Peck?" 

The  flood  of  invective  which  had  been  accumulat 
ing  in  Mr.  Peck's  system  all  the  afternoon  now 
broke  its  bounds.  He  screamed  at  Mr.  Skinner  a 
blasphemous  invitation  to  betake  himself  to  the 
lower  regions. 

"To-morrow  morning,"  he  promised  hoarsely, 
"I'll  beat  you  to  death  with  the  stump  of  my  left 
arm,  you  miserable,  cold-blooded,  lazy,  shiftless 
slacker." 

He  called  up  Cappy  Kicks'  residence  next,  and 
asked  for  Captain  Matt  Peasley,  who,  he  knew, 
made  his  home  with  his  father-in-law.  Matt  Peasley 
came  to  the  telephone  and  listened  sympathetically 
to  Peck's  tale  of  woe. 

"Peck,  that's  the  worst  outrage  I  ever  heard  of," 
he  declared.  "The  idea  of  setting  you  such  a  task. 
You  take  my  advice  and  forget  the  blue  vase." 

"I  can't,"  Peck  panted.  "Mr.  Kicks  will  feel 
mighty  chagrined  if  I  fail  to  get  the  vase  to  him. 
I  wouldn't  disappoint  him  for  my  right  arm.  He's 
been  a  dead  game  sport  with  me,  Captain  Peasley." 

"But  it's  too  late  to  get  the  vase  to  him,  Peck. 
He  left  the  city  at  eight  o'clock  and  it  is  now  al 
most  half  past  nine." 

"I  know,  but  if  I  can  secure  legal  possession  of 


THE  GO-GETTER  53 

the  vase  I'll  get  it  to  him  before  he  leaves  the  train 
at  Santa  Barbara  at  six  o'clock  to-morrow  morn- 
ing." 

"How?" 

"There's  a  flying  school  out  at  the  Marina  and 
one  of  the  pilots  there  is  a  friend  of  mine.  He'll 
fly  to  Santa  Barbara  with  me  and  the  vase." 

"You're  crazy." 

"I  know  it.  Please  lend  me  two  thousand  dol 
lars." 

"What  for?" 

"To  pay  for  the  vase/' 

"Now  I  know  you're  crazy — or  drunk.  Why,  if 
Gappy  Kicks  ever  forgot  himself  to  the  extent  of 
paying  two  hundred  dollars  for  a  vase  he'd  bleed 
to  death  in  an  hour." 

"Won't  you  let  me  have  two  thousand  dollars, 
Captain  Peasley?" 

"I  will  not,  Peck,  old  son.  Go  home  and  to  bed 
and  forget  it." 

"Please.  You  can  cash  your  checks.  You're 
known  so  much  better  than  I,  and  it's  Sunday 
night " 

"And  it's  a  fine  way  you  keep  holy  the  Sabbath 
day,"  Matt  Peasley  retorted  and  hung  up. 

"Well,"  Herman  Joost  queried,  "do  we  stay  here 
all  night?" 

Bill  Peck  bowed  his  head.    "Look  here,"  he  de- 


54  THE  GO-GETTER 

manded  suddenly,  "do  you  know  a  good  diamond 
when  you  see  it?" 

"I  do,"  Herman  Joost  replied. 

"Will  you  wait  here  until  I  go  to  my  hotel  and 
get  one?" 

"Sure." 

Bill  Peck  limped  painfully  away.  Forty  min 
utes  later  he  returned  with  a  platinum  ring  set 
with  diamonds  and  sapphires. 

"What  are  they  worth?"  he  demanded. 

Herman  Joost  looked  the  ring  over  lovingly  and 
appraised  it  conservatively  at  twenty-five  hundred 
dollars. 

"Take  it  as  security  for  the  payment  of  my 
check,"  Peck  pleaded.  "Give  me  a  receipt  for  it 
and  after  my  check  has  gone  through  clearing  I'll 
come  back  and  get  the  ring." 

Fifteen  minutes  later,  with  the  blue  vase  packed 
in  excelsior  and  reposing  in  a  stout  cardboard  box, 
Bill  Peck  entered  a  restaurant  and  ordered  dinnep 
When  he  had  dined  he  engaged  a  taxi  and  was 
driven  to  the  flying  field  at  the  Marina.  From  the 
night  watchman  he  ascertained  the  address  of  his 
pilot  friend  and  at  midnight,  with  his  friend  at  the 
wheel,  Bill  Peck  and  his  blue  vase  soared  up  into 
the  moonlight  and  headed  south. 

An  hour  and  a  half  later  they  landed  in  a  stubble 
field  in  the  Salinas  Valley  and,  bidding  his  friend 


THE  GO-GETTER  55 

good-bye,  Bill  Peck  trudged  across  to  the  railroad 
track  and  sat  down.  When  the  train  bearing  Cappy 
Eicks  came  roaring  down  the  valley,  Peck  twisted 
a  Sunday  paper  with  which  he  had  provided  him 
self,  into  an  improvised  torch,  which  he  lighted. 
Standing  between  the  rails  he  swung  the  flaming 
paper  frantically. 

The  train  slid  to  a  halt,  a  brakeman  opened  a 
vestibule  door,  and  Bill  Peck  stepped  wearily 
aboard. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  flagging  this  train?"  the 
brakeman  demanded  angrily,  as  he  signaled  the 
engineer  to  proceed.  "Got  a  ticket?" 

"No,  but  I've  got  the  money  to  pay  my  way. 
And  I  flagged  this  train  because  I  wanted  to  change 
my  method  of  travel.  I'm  looking  for  a  man  in 
stateroom  A  of  car  7,  and  if  you  try  to  block  me 
there'll  be  murder  done." 

"That's  right.  Take  advantage  of  your  half-por 
tion  arm  and  abuse  me,"  the  brakeman  retorted 
bitterly.  "Are  you  looking  for  that  little  old  man 
with  the  Henry  Clay  collar  and  the  white  mutton- 
chop  whiskers?" 

"I  certainly  am." 

"Well,  he  was  looking  for  you  just  before  we  left 
San  Francisco.  He  asked  me  if  I  had  seen  a  one- 
armed  man  with  a  box  under  his  good  arm.  I'll 
lead  you  to  him." 


56  THE  GO-GETTER 

A  prolonged  ringing  at  Cappy's  stateroom  door 
brought  the  old  gentleman  to  the  entrance  in  his 
nightshirt. 

"Very  sorry  to  have  to  disturb  you,  Mr.  Kicks," 
said  Bill  Peck,  "but  the  fact  is  there  were  so  many 
Cohens  and  Cohns  and  Cohans,  and  it  was  such 
a  job  to  dig  up  two  thousand  dollars,  that  I  failed 
to  connect  with  you  at  seven  forty-five  last  night, 
as  per  orders.  It  was  absolutely  impossible  for 
me  to  accomplish  the  task  within  the  time  limit 
set,  but  I  was  resolved  that  you  should  not  be  dis 
appointed.  Here  is  the  vase.  The  shop  wasn't 
within  four  blocks  of  where  you  thought  it  was, 
sir,  but  I'm  sure  I  found  the  right  vase.  It  ought 
to  be.  It  cost  enough  and  was  hard  enough  to  get, 
so  it  should  be  precious  enough  to  form  a  gift  for 
any  friend  of  yours." 

Cappy  Ricks  stared  at  Bill  Peck  as  if  the  latter 
were  a  wraith. 

"By  the  Twelve  Ragged  Apostles!"  he  mur 
mured.  "By  the  Holy  Pink-toed  Prophet!  We 
changed  the  sign  on  you  and  we  stacked  the  Cohens 
on  you  and  we  set  a  policeman  to  guard  the  shop 
to  keep  you  from  breaking  the  window,  and  we 
made  you  dig  up  two  thousand  dollars  on  Sunday 
night  in  a  town  where  you  are  practically  unknown, 
and  while  you  missed  the  train  at  eight  o'clock, 
you  overtake  it  at  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  and 


THE  GO-GETTER  57 

deliver  the  blue  vase.  Come  in  and  rest  your  poor 
old  game  leg,  Bill.  Brakeman,  I'm  much  obliged 
to  you." 

Bill  Peck  entered  and  slumped  wearily  down  on 
the  settee.  "So  it  was  a  plant?"  he  cracked,  and 
his  voice  trembled  with  rage.  "Well,  sir,  you're 
an  old  man  and  you've  been  good  to  me,  so  I  do 
not  begrudge  you  your  little  joke,  but  Mr.  Ricks, 
I  can't  stand  things  like  I  used  to.  My  leg  hurts 
and  my  stump  hurts  and  my  heart  hurts " 

He  paused,  choking,  and  the  tears  of  impotent 
rage  filled  his  eyes.  "You  shouldn't  treat  me  that 
way,  sir,"  he  complained  presently.  "I've  been 
trained  not  to  question  orders,  even  when  they 
seem  utterly  foolish  to  me;  I've  been  trained  to 
obey  them — on  time,  if  possible,  but  if  impossible, 
to  obey  them  anyhow.  I've  been  taught  loyalty 
to  my  chief — and  I'm  sorry  my  chief  found  it  neces 
sary  to  make  a  buffoon  of  me.  I  haven't  had  a 
very  good  time  the  past  three  years  and — and — 
you  can — pa-pa-pass  your  skunk  spruce  and  larch 
rustic  and  short  odd  length  stock  to  some  slacker 
like  Skinner — and  you'd  better — arrange — to  re 
place — Skinner,  because  he's  young — enough  to — 
take  a  beating — and  I'm  going  to — give  it  to  him — 
and  it'll  be  a  hospital — job — sir " 

Cappy  Kicks  ruffled  Bill  Peck's  aching  head  with 
a  paternal  hand. 


58  THE  GO-GETTER 

"Bill,  old  boy,  it  was  cruel — damnably  cruel,  but 
I  had  a  big  job  for  you  and  I  had  to  find  out  a  lot 
of  things  about  you  before  I  entrusted  you  with 
that  job.  So  I  arranged  to  give  you  the  Degree 
of  the  Blue  Vase,  which  is  the  supreme  test  of  a 
go-getter.  You  thought  you  carried  into  this  state 
room  a  two  thousand  dollar  vase,  but  between  our 
selves,  what  you  really  carried  in  was  a  ten  thou 
sand  dollar  job  as  our  Shanghai  manager." 

"Wha— what!" 

"Every  time  I  have  to  pick  out  a  permanent 
holder  of  a  job  worth  ten  thousand  dollars,  or  more, 
I  give  the  candidate  the  Degree  of  the  Blue  Vase," 
Gappy  explained.  "Fve  had  two  men  out  of  a  field 
of  fifteen  deliver  the  vase,  Bill." 

Bill  Peck  had  forgotten  his  rage,  but  the  tears 
of  his  recent  fury  still  glistened  in  his  bold  blue 
eyes.  "Thank  you,  sir.  I  forgive  you — and  I'll 
make  good  in  Shanghai." 

~~"I  know  you  will,  Bill.  Now,  tell  me,  son,  weren't 
you  tempted  to  quit  when  you  discovered  the  al 
most  insuperable  obstacles  I'd  placed  in  your 
way?" 

"Yes,  sir,  I  was.  I  wanted  to  commit  suicide  be 
fore  I'd  finished  telephoning  all  the  C-o-h-e-n-s  in 
the  world.  And  when  I  started  on  the  C-o-h-n-s — 
well,  it's  this  way,  sir.  I  just  couldn't  quit  because 


THE  GO-GETTER  59 

that  would  have  been  disloyal  to  a  man  I  once 
knew." 

"Who  was  he?"  Gappy  demanded,  and  there  was 
awe  in  his  voice. 

"He  was  my  brigadier,  and  he  had  a  brigade 
motto :  It  shall  be  done.  When  the  divisional  com 
mander  called  him  up  and  told  him  to  move  for 
ward  with  his  brigade  and  occupy  certain  terri 
tory,  our  brigadier  would  say :  'Very  well,  sir.  It 
shall  be  done.'  If  any  officer  in  his  brigade  showed 
signs  of  flunking  his  job  because  it  appeared  im 
possible,  the  brigadier  would  just  look  at  him  once 
— and  then  that  officer  would  remember  the  motto 
and  go  and  do  his  job  or  die  trying. 

"In  the  army,  sir,  the  esprit  de  corps  doesn't 
bubble  up  from  the  bottom.  It  filters  down  from 
the  top.  An  organization  is  what  its  commanding 
officer  is — neither  better  nor  worse.  In  my  com 
pany,  when  the  top  sergeant  handed  out  a  week  of 
kitchen  police  to  a  buck,  that  buck  was  out  of  luck 
if  he  couldn't  muster  a  grin  and  say:  'All  right, 
sergeant.  It  shall  be  done.' 

"The  brigadier  sent  for  me  once  and  ordered 
me  to  go  out  and  get  a  certain  German  sniper.  I'd 
been  pretty  lucky — some  days  I  got  enough  for  a 
mess — and  he'd  heard  of  me.  He  opened  a  map 
and  said  to  me:  'Here's  about  where  he  holes  up. 
Go  get  him,  Private  Peck/  Well,  Mr.  Kicks,  I 


60  THE  GO-GETTER 

snapped  into  it  and  gave  him  a  rifle  salute,  and 
said,  'Sir,  it  shall  be  done' — and  I'll  never  forget 
the  look  that  man  gave  me.  He  came  down  to  the 
field  hospital  to  see  me  after  I'd  walked  into  one 
of  those  Austrian  88's.  I  knew  my  left  wing  was 
a  total  loss  and  I  suspected  my  left  leg  was  about 
to  leave  me,  and  I  was  downhearted  and  wanted 
to  die.  He  came  and  bucked  me  up.  He  said : 
'Why,  Private  Peck,  you  aren't  half  dead.  In  civil 
life  you're  going  to  be  worth  half  a  dozen  live  ones 
— aren't  you?'  But  I  was  pretty  far  gone  and  I 
told  him  I  didn't  believe  it,  so  he  gave  me  a  hard 
look  and  said:  'Private  Peck  will  do  his  utmost 
to  recover  and  as  a  starter  he  will  smile.'  Of 
course,  patting  it  in  the  form  of  an  order,  I  had 
to  give  him  the  usual  reply,  so  I  grinned  and  said : 
'Sir,  it  shall  be  done.'  He  was  quite  a  man,  sir, 
and  his  brigade  had  a  soul — his  soul " 

"I  see,  Bill.  And  his  soul  goes  marching  on, 
eh?  Who  was  he,  Bill?" 

Bill  Peck  named  his  idol. 

"By  the  Twelve  Bagged  Apostles!"  There  was 
awe  in  Cappy  Ricks'  voice,  there  was  reverence  in 
his  faded  old  eyes.  "Son,"  he  continued  gently, 
"twenty -five  years  ago  your  brigadier  was  a  candi 
date  for  an  important  job  in  my  employ — and  I 
gave  him  the  Degree  of  the  Blue  Vase.  He  couldn't 
get  the  vase  legitimately,  so  he  threw  a  cobble-stone 


THE  GO-GETTER  61 

through  the  window,  grabbed  the  vase  and  ran  a 
mile  and  a  half  before  the  police  captured  him. 
Cost  me  a  lot  of  money  to  square  the  case  and  keep 
it  quiet.  But  he  was  too  good,  Bill,  and  I  couldn't 
stand  in  his  way;  I  let  him  go  forward  to  his 
destiny.  But  tell  me,  Bill.  How  did  you  get  the 
two  thousand  dollars  to  pay  for  this  vase?" 

"Once,"  said  ex-Private  Peck  thoughtfully,  "the 
brigadier  and  I  were  first  at  a  dug-out  entrance, 
It  was  a  headquarters  dug-out  and  they  wouldn't 
surrender,  so  I  bombed  them  and  then  we  went 
down.  I  found  a  finger  with  a  ring  on  it — and  the 
brigadier  said  if  I  didn't  take  the  ring  somebody 
else  would.  I  left  that  ring  as  security  for  my 
check." 

"But  how  could  you  have  the  courage  to  let  me 
in  for  a  two  thousand  dollar  vase?  Didn't  you 
realize  that  the  price  was  absurd  and  that  I  might 
repudiate  the  transaction?" 

"Certainly  not.  You  are  responsible  for  the 
acts  of  your  servant.  You  are  a  true  blue  sport 
and  would  never  repudiate  my  action.  You  told 
me  what  to  do,  but  you  did  not  insult  my  intelli 
gence  by  telling  me  how  to  do  it.  When  my  late 
brigadier  sent  me  after  the  German  sniper  he  didn't 
take  into  consideration  the  probability  that  the 
sniper  might  get  me.  He  told  me  to  get  the  sniper. 
It  was  my  business  to  see  to  it  that  I  accomplished 


62  THE  GO-GETTER 

my  mission  and  carried  my  objective,  which,  of 
course,  I  could  not  have  done  if  I  had  permitted 
the  German  to  get  me." 

"I  see,  Bill.  Well,  give  that  blue  vase  to  the 
porter  in  the  morning.  I  paid  fifteen  cents  for  it 
in  a  five,  ten  and  fifteen  ,cent  store.  Meanwhile, 
hop  into  that  upper  berth  and  help  yourself  to  a 
well-earned  rest." 

"But  aren't  you  going  to  a  wedding  anniversary 
at  Santa  Barbara,  Mr.  Kicks  ?" 

"I  am  not.  Bill,  I  discovered  a  long  time  ago 
that  it's  a  good  idea  for  me  to  get  out  of  town  and 
play  golf  as  often  as  I  can.  Besides  which, 
prudence  dictates  that  I  remain  away  from  the  of 
fice  for  a  week  after  the  seeker  of  blue  vases  fails 
to  deliver  the  goods  and — fey  the  way,  Bill,  what 
sort  of  a  game  do  you  play?  Oh,  forgive  me,  Bill. 
I  forgot  about  your  left  arm." 

"Say,  look  here,  sir,"  Bill  Peck  retorted,  "I'm  big 
enough  and  ugly  enough  to  play  one-handed  golf." 

"But,  have  you  ever  tried  it?" 

"No,  sir,"  Bill  Peck  replied  seriously,  "but — it 
shall  be  done!" 


IV, 


RETURN  TO  the  circulation  desk  of  any 
University  of  California  Library 

or  to  the 

NORTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 
Bldg.  400,  Richmond  Field  Station 
University  of  California 
Richmond,  CA  94804-4698 

ALL  BOOKS  MAY  BE  RECALLED  AFTER  7  DAYS 

•  2-month  loans  may  be  renewed  by  calling 
(510)642-6753 

•  1-year  loans  may  be  recharged  by  bringing 
books  to  NRLF 

•  Renewals  and  recharges  may  be  made 
4  days  prior  to  due  date 

DUE  AS  STAMPED  BELOW 


SEP  0  5  2003 


DD20   15M  4-02 


.r«  33J58 
U.C.  BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


